


Fall From Grace

by spaceysev



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Ben Solo - Freeform, Canon Divergence, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Kylo Ren - Freeform, Reader-Insert, TFA - Freeform, let this man be soft sometimes I’m begging you all, slowburn, that good boy Ben solo content we all need, tlj - Freeform, tros
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23777761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceysev/pseuds/spaceysev
Summary: Your planet is gone. Your parents are gone. Your throne is gone.Ben Solo is gone, too.But, you think you might have an idea of how to bring him back. Probably a bad one, but you’ve got quite literally nothing left in the galaxy to lose.
Relationships: Ben Solo & Reader, Ben Solo | Kylo Ren/Reader, Kylo Ren & Reader, Kylo Ren & You, Kylo Ren/Reader, Kylo Ren/You
Comments: 13
Kudos: 23





	1. We Aren’t Shy Here

_“You’re sure this is okay?”_

_You cringed at how reedy the words sounded tumbling from your mouth, how awkward and downright frightened you’d come across. It wasn’t like you were a goody two shoes, and you’d known as soon as he extended the invitation that there was no way his father had okay’d your late night rendezvous, but that didn’t mean you weren’t anxious at the potential of getting caught. And, stars, what would your own parents have to say about this?_

_“Okay?” he repeated, puffing out a soft exhale in amusement. “Probably not. Worth it?” He slid his eyes onto you as he closed the ship’s hatch, wondrous mischief shining in his irises. “More than definitely.”_

_Heat rushed your cheeks, and it took pressing your teeth into your lip to keep your heart from betraying your mind. “Ben, maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all.”  
_

_“What? No. Hey.” He reached out to walk long fingers over your arm until he found your wrist, sweet pressure of his gentle grip shooting sun bursts through your veins. Earlier in the night, when he’d noticed you shivering, he’d offered his jacket to keep you warm, which you’d eagerly accepted. Now that it was the one thing standing between his flesh making direct contact with your own, you found an odd resentment for the garment harbored in your chest. “I’ve been flying since I was a kid. You’re completely safe with me.”_

_Resisting the urge to laugh was easy enough, but resisting the instant settling of your nerves when you looked into Ben Solo’s eyes was too far out of your control. Always had been. Probably always would be. “I just... it’s late, you know? And if we get caught, I don’t want your parents thinking I lured you out here to—“_

_He cut you off with a hearty laugh, unable to contain his delighted astonishment. “Oh you’ve_ lured  _me now, have you? You should’ve told me earlier, Highness.” He tightened his grip on your wrist, using it to pull you slowly but confidently toward the cockpit of the ship. “I would have let you lead the way. ”_

_ Against your better judgement, you wondered if his words were the truth, and not for nothing. Ben Solo hardly seemed the type to let himself be led anywhere he didn’t already wish to go. _

_“Yes, Ben, but your parents—“_

_“Should understand why I had to borrow the Falcon,” Ben insisted, infectious confidence propping his chin up just that tiniest bit higher. You saw his mother’s certainty in the determined set of his jaw, his father’s roguishness in the confident way he squared his shoulders, in the unwavering, lighthearted gaze that dared you to prove him wrong. “Or, my father should, at least. It’s not every day you get the chance to try and impress a princess.”_

_You could say no, you knew. Call it all off, have Ben take you home and sneak you back past the guards you’d so painstakingly outwitted to make it here in the first place. But then you ran the risk of losing Ben’s excited smile and having to watch the spark of wonder fizzle out of his hazel gaze. You didn’t think you’d lose the interest he’d never bothered to be subtle about, but you wondered if it might, in fact, make him think of you as something less than brave. Which, of course, couldn’t be an option. Not if you wanted to sneak out to see him again in the future._

_So, instead, you let him do as he pleased, settling you into a seat just beside the pilot’s chair and gingerly buckling you in, long, pale fingers clumsily dancing over the fabric of your clothing. Of course; Ben would have been just as nervous as you, if not more so. For one, the sort of punishment that awaited him if his father found out he’d commandeered his personal spaceship to show a few star clusters to a pretty girl existed at an unimaginable scale. And, for another, to hear Ben tell it — you were the first girl to have ever inspired him to gamble with the risk._

_“Do you trust me?” he murmured, beaming a sweet smile your way as he began working over the controls in preparation for flight. “Honest answers only.”_

_“To fly the ship,” you teased, marveling at the confidence melded into each and every one of his movements. This boy was a pilot’s son; something that became more and more evident with each moment that passed. “The rest may take some time.”_

_Ben grinned, reaching for your hand with his own and squeezing your fingers with as much delicacy as he might handle a feather. “Then I look forward to earning it.” The words were more a promise than anything else, but the mischief dancing in his eyes stole your attention before you could ponder them too long. “Remember: we’re not shy around here, Highness. Don’t be afraid to scream.”_

_“Ben_ Solo _—“_

_But then he was lifting the Millennium Falcon up and up and up, at such a rate that you were forced to squeeze your eyes shut as an anxious squeal slipped its way out of your throat. You forewent simply holding Ben’s hand, opting instead to clutch his forearm to your chest in an admittedly undignified grasp at dear life. Momentum lifted your body along with the ship, flipping your stomach inside out and upside down, and you were so sure that this ridiculous boy was flying you straight to your death—_

_Until you stopped moving altogether, stomach settling just as quickly as it had unsettled and the rush of blood and adrenaline fading from your ears, retreating until the only thing you could hear was Ben’s soft laughter, shaking the arm you clutched against yourself. The scream died at your lips, fizzling out as you opened your eyes to get oriented. And as you did so, glancing through the windshield of the cockpit and basking in the fact that you’d actually managed to do something reckless and wondrous and all because a boy had suggested it, you found countless shining, glittering stars staring back at you against the black backdrop of outer space, replacing the rolling green landscape of Chandrila which had been present only seconds ago._

_ You’d seen space before, of course, but never... never like this. Never in the cockpit of a worn spaceship that you certainly weren’t meant to be on, holding the hand of a slightly older boy you’d snuck out of your monitored home to be  with . Never with the accompanying feelings of uncertainty and excitement clawing at your mind, inspiring boldness and a premature expectation of doing this all over again with the boy beside you. Never with Ben Solo, who laughed easily and smiled warmly and made you feel for all the worlds in existence that absolutely anything was possible, so long as you remained at his side. _

_“Well?” he prompted, blinking over at you with wide eyes framed in thick, dark lashes. “What do you think?”_

_“I think you were right,” you whispered, chest glowing with the weight of wonder. “This was definitely worth it.”_

_But somehow, you suspected he already knew that._

* * *

When your eyes finally slid open, it was to your own devastation, the icy fractals of a memory long past fragmenting violently in your heart. You might have even shed a few tears at the sheer ache of loss if you were anywhere close to properly hydrated, but your captors had been denying you food and water for two days now in efforts to get you talking. In some sick, twisted way, you supposed you should be grateful to them for it; at least without the ability to cry, you’d manage to maintain some semblance of dignity. Even still, each time you blinked, remnants of the memory remained sketched across your eyelids, and  _his_ face was present even as you opened your eyes.

You’d been days away from your nineteenth birthday, back then, and Ben hadn’t been quite twenty. Children, the both of you, but your joint naivety hadn’t made your relationship any less impactful.

After all — your many restless nights at the side of Ben Solo were the primary reason you found yourself here, now, strapped like an animal to an interrogation table and tortured half to death. You’d been so concerned over whether he’d think of you as brave when you were younger; now the past want for his recognition of it seemed so silly.

When the door to your — the word ‘room’ seemed far too extravagant; what they had you in was little more than a closet, lacking windows and company, hostile or otherwise — slid open, the sharp  _tap_ of shiny black shoes moving across the floor with purpose, you decided not to bother looking up. The First Order had you on a revolving door of torturers, though never the one you sought. At this point, studying the faces of whoever entered at any given time would simply constitute a massive waste of energy.

“No hello?” The voice was of a higher pitch, snobbish, angry for no good reason at all; the ginger, who’d questioned you for hours on end your first night here. Raging asshole. “And here I seem to recall a plethora of threats falling out of you not so long ago.”

And you might’ve opted to tell him, that you were still willing to gouge his eyes out with your fingers the second you got a hand free from your impossibly tight restraints, but that had been more of a day-one-in-captivity action. Day three was more about surviving your own body’s shut down, and maintaining enough stubbornness to talk them into giving you what you wanted. They’d need to cooperate soon, if they wanted you talking before you actually died, but this ginger man was just as annoyingly stubborn as you’d learned to be.

Whatever; if you died now, at least you wouldn’t have to deal with his voice grating against your ears anymore.

You watched as he stepped closer, those shining boots filling your vision and affording you a scarce look at your own reflection. Matted hair, tired eyes, sallow skin, a few scrapes and bruises littering your forehead and jaw, a welt at your right cheek from where this man had smacked you across the face your first day as a prisoner. What a sight you were; if only your parents could see you now. If only General Organa could.

If only Ben could.

“My patience is wearing thin,” the man — Hux, if you remembered his initial rundown of your situation correctly — sneered, keeping a healthy enough distance from your body. Fair enough; three days in the same clothes with no opportunity to bathe was bound to have an effect, especially in such tight quarters. You weren’t complaining, though. Not if it kept him away from you. “And you are starting to outlive your use to the First Order. You will  _speak_ ,  or you will be killed.”

Funny; he’d said the same thing yesterday, and the day before. Someone really ought to tell him that empty threats weren’t near as effective an interrogation tactic as actuals.

“I told you I would,” you croaked, voice hoarse from a combination of hours of agonized screaming and otherwise disuse, “just not to you.”

You could almost hear the reddening of Hux’s cheeks as a result of his anger. Or maybe that was just a trick of your mind. Telling the difference was becoming difficult. “Prisoner’s have no right to negotiate. Commander Ren is  _extremely_ busy—“

You arched a brow, actually finding it in you to look  _up_ and meet those furious, self important eyes. The implication in your own could be nothing less than a challenge. “Isn’t it Supreme Leader Ren, now? Everyone in the Resistance knows he’s the one calling the shots.” You paused, as if to deliberate. “No offense, but I’d rather just talk to the guy in charge. Make sure we don’t waste anyone’s time.”

Hux snarled in anger, curling his fingers into a fist and looking as if he meant to strike you. That was fine; wouldn’t have been the first time, and you doubted it would be the last. Your existence was far too unlucky for anything else. “Do you think this is a game? Your insolence will not  _stand_ here!”

“Kill me, then,” you said simply, offering a noncommittal shrug of your shoulder. That only seemed to make the fire in Hux’s eyes blaze brighter, his face turning a dark crimson with the heat of it. “But I promise you: if Kylo Ren finds out you let me die with information no one else can give him when all you had to do to get me talking was bring him to see me, it’ll be you on this table next.” You paused, thinking a moment. “Who knows. Maybe we can rot in hell together.”

An unappealing idea, really, a feeling that Hux clearly shared if the soft undercurrent of panic not quite hidden beneath his expression was anything to go by. The words you spoke were the truth; he knew that, of course. Denying Kylo Ren any sort of information was akin to a death wish, and several other guards on this ship were well aware of your singular demand to speak to their Supreme Leader. You imagined any number of them would be willing to snitch Hux out, if it meant their own advancement in rank. The First Order was filled with nothing but selfish rats that way.

Hux stepped forward swiftly, too close for comfort, and initiated a startlingly painful round of electroshocks doled out by the torture table. You were unable to keep from screaming, tearing a new stripe of sensitivity through your already raw throat. The overwhelming urge to vomit accompanied the strong whack of vertigo against your senses, and it was all you could do to keep from hurling bile all over Hux’s sparkling boots. Part of you almost wished you had; he certainly  _deserved_ it.

“A parting gift to remember me by,” Hux explained, holding nothing for you in his voice other than disdain and amused cruelty. “You want to see Ren so badly? Fine. I’ll go and collect him. But once he’s finished with you, you’ll be dead.”

Fine by you, if it meant you never had to see this abhorrent creature of a man another day in your life. Though maintaining a plethora of things in the galaxy you harbored hate for, Hux had somehow managed to worm his way into the top five. Sort of impressive, you guessed, in the same way that the First Order’s capacity for unspeakable acts of depravity was impressive.

You waited until the sound of Hux’s steps echoing down the hallway beyond the door faded from your ears, and then a few moments more for good measure, before deflating against the torture table, nearly cracking beneath your lack of confidence and bravery. For all your posturing, the bluster that concealed your true feelings, it did nothing to bring you any significant form of comfort, to make you feel any less defeated despite Hux finally agreeing to your terms. You were still a prisoner, still tortured to near psychosis, still in the midst of dying via starvation and dehydration. The mere reality of the circumstances were heavy, suffocating; far too daunting for someone like you.

But then you thought of how proud Poe would’ve been to see you stand your ground like that, having been the one to teach you your smarmy facade of defiance and indifference in the face of existing as a prisoner of war in the first place. He’d insisted, after your plan had been rejected by General Organa mere seconds after you’d breathed life into it. After knowing that, despite being told no, ordered to stay put, to in no way intentionally endanger yourself, you wouldn’t be able to heed those instructions. He’d seen it in your eyes, he’d told you. Knew that you wouldn’t be able to comply, not over this, not if you had even the slightest chance in hell of it working. And he’d sworn not to tell a soul, until you were too far out of reach, until it was absolutely necessary.

Those were two gifts your friend had offered you; you only hoped you survived long enough to pay his compassion back double.

In your solitude, a scarcity since being dragged aboard this forsaken fucking ship, you found your mind wandering to places you rarely let it visit, exhaustion freeing it to do as it pleased. Thoughts of your parents began to run wild, your mother’s sweet smile and your father’s strong, calloused hand cupping your cheek in affection. You wondered what they might think of all of this, of you ,  risking your life at the chance of a  _maybe_ ,  a partial success, an if-everything-goes-according-to-plan. Your mother, you were pretty sure, would have rolled her eyes in bewildered exasperation at your impulsivity. Your father, on the other hand, would have understood perfectly.

_I’m going to marry that boy_ ,  you’d told him once, standing beside him on the balcony outside your bedroom beneath the blanket of countless Chandrilan constellations.

_I don’t doubt it_ ,  had come his light, knowing response.

An ache formed in your chest, the same one that always did when you thought of your parents, but you had little time to dwell on it before a distant, sharp tap reached your ears, breaking you out of your reverie of memories.

Footsteps, though clearly not Hux’s. No, this set was different; confident, secure, unbothered and leisurely. Imposing enough to make your breath momentarily hitch in your throat before finding the strength to resume your interrogation alter ego, raising your chin and squaring your shoulders as best you could in a last minute grasp at dignity, just as you’d been taught to do from birth. If those footsteps belonged to who you suspected, then there were entirely new rules officially at play.

There could be no cowering, no wallowing, no groveling for mercy you knew never even existed in the first place. No bargain making either, not that he’d even entertain that sort of thing. No conceding, no volunteering of free information, no exchanging something for nothing.

And, most important of all, no  _remembering_ . Because if your judgement was clouded, even for a nanosecond, he would lock in on it and use it to unknit the very fabric of your being, and you would be little more than powerless to stop him. This might’ve been a suicide mission, but you weren’t exactly intent on dying on someone else’s terms.

Not even his.

The sound only grew louder, those imperious footsteps now more than a distant echo assaulting your ears. This time, when the door to your torture chamber slid open, you raised your eyes from the floor, jaw clenched in anticipation. No need to preemptively set your insecurities on display; you’d managed to get him here in the first place, hadn’t you? Granted, it had taken three days of bullying Hux and being  _tortured_ ,  but the results weren’t any less impressive.

And there he was. Impossibly tall, dwarfing you and everything else in this sorry excuse for a room, swathed in billowing layers of black fabric like some kind of unholy angel. Domineering to the point of suffocation, stealing the breath from your lungs with each step he took closer. On anyone else, the helmet obscuring his face would have looked ridiculously theatric; on him, it made simple work of promising danger. A walking threat, even without the lightsaber winking up at you from his right hip, only slightly obscured by the dark cloak swirling around him.

_ Kylo Ren . _

This had been a mistake. In your heart, in your mind, in every little inch of your body, you knew. Goading Hux, calling this man here, refusing to speak until he came,  _all of it_ had been part of a mistake far too monumental to take back.

He stood a moment, looming over you in threatening silence. Considering you. Picking and pulverizing you to pieces, and setting your skin ablaze with eyes you couldn’t even see. All you could hear was the muffled sound of his breathing, warped and distorted by the voice modulator of his mask.

And then,

“I understand you wished to speak with me.”


	2. Before

The first time you’d imagined it, it had been with a lot of tears and soft whispers. A gentle kiss to the crown of your head, a relieved, satisfied exhale as a comforting embrace slipped around your torso, perhaps the sweet heat of his hand bleeding through the fabric of your clothing as his fingers curled around your hip. Conspiratorial, hushed chuckles, fueling promises to never be apart again, so long as you both breathed.

After the first month, as your heart began to settle, you figured it might be a little less loving than that. Still filled with strong embraces and tender kisses, of course, but not quite so desperately romantic. There were things he would apologize for, promises he’d be sure to make. He’d tell you he loved you, that he always had, and that it was that pure, unadulterated love that had kept him sane long enough to make his way back to you. And you would forgive him all the horrible things he was responsible for, as he begged you to do from where he buried his face in your shoulder, because  of _course_ you would.

A year later saw your hopes dwindling, becoming less idealistic as you learned to settle for simply having him back in front of you, fingers intertwined, as he explained why this was happening to the two of you. The year after that, your imagination compromised, deciding you didn’t need to touch him if you could just stand next to him and offer a smile of reassurance, one that said everything was going to be okay.

Two months later, you’d been sent by your parents to meet with General Leia Organa to establish your people’s support of the Resistance. You’d only just signed the official document when you received word that Snoke had reportedly selected your planet to participate in the trial run of new catastrophically destructive technology, a weapon which would serve as the original blueprint for the one housed on Starkiller Base.

And, in the midst of being orphaned, inheriting the title of Queen of Reveria, and losing your planet all in the same instant, suddenly imagining what a reunion with Ben Solo might be like was the last thing that could be on your mind. Which, you liked to think, explained a great deal about your current situation. Because not once had you ever thought it might be like  _this_.

You inhaled a shaky breath, hoping your fear wasn’t overly conspicuous. Where was that brave persona Poe had so painstakingly equipped you with? Where was your royal pride? You might have been a ruler with no planet, but you were still a  _queen_ .

“You know,” you began, concentrating hard in an effort to knock the tremble out of your voice, “you might want to talk to General Hux about how he treats your guests. You don’t want people thinking you’re rude, do you?”

“My reputation tends to speak for itself,” came Kylo Ren’s flat reply, modulator robbing his voice of any significant emotion. You wondered if that wasn’t the point in the first place. “Imagine my surprise after being informed that, in spite of it, you refused to speak until I paid you a visit.” He lowered his voice, bending so that his mask was dangerously close to your face, affording you another glimpse at your reflection in the cold black of the metal. “Most people go out of their way to avoid that. But... you aren’t most people, are you?”

Impressing even yourself, you managed a flippant roll of your eyes. “Maybe I was getting desperate,” you muttered, opting to avert your eyes. You could feel his stare boring into you from behind his mask; you wondered if they looked the same, even after all these years, but knew there was no chance in hell of Kylo Ren humoring your ridiculous whims. “You ever been alone with Hux for that long? It’s agony.”

He went on as if you’d never even spoken, a hand gloved in black leather reaching out from beneath his cape, stopping just shy of caressing your cheek. “You want something,” he muttered, concentration betrayed by his words, “I just can’t place it. Why are you so hard to read?”

You blanched, clenching your jaw against the urge to react. Poe had warned you of the mind tricks Kylo Ren was likely to use, and even before then, you’d heard tales of the invasive power. This man could take whatever he wanted, see through your mind, pick apart your psyche piece by piece, provided he was bored enough. He’d done it to Poe, after all, and your friend  _still_ suffered hellish nightmares in the aftermath.

“Dameron.” The name cut your heart like a rusted knife, sending pinpricks of pain along your flesh. How was he pulling any of this out of you? Wasn’t there meant to be some sort of overbearing presence invading your mind? Shouldn’t you be howling in pain, doubled over beneath the oppressive weight of his power? “I might’ve known he’d be involved. But surely if you’re high enough in rank to be so close to him, then... I wonder if you aren’t...”

Through no accord of your own your mind shifted away from Poe’s face, all worries and concerns over him quietly fading into the background to make way for someone else’s. She was older, gray hair twisted atop her head in an elegant manner, face worn from age but no less fierce because of it. Her smile told a tale of strength while also allowing for just a touch of wistful sadness, but even in spite of the heavy hand life had dealt her, you knew this woman would never let it turn her sour. It was what you admired most about her; strived toward, even, as she was what you hoped to someday emulate through all your suffering.

“ _There’s_ my mother,” Kylo Ren breathed. The word sounded strange coming from him; robots didn’t  have  mothers, and Kylo Ren certainly wasn’t human. “You’re fond of her, I see. I was, too. Before.”

Before what? Before, when the two of you were little more than children, playing at romance beneath the countless constellations shining in the skies of Chandrila? Before he’d whispered a promise into your ear, fingers wrapped around your wrists as your back pressed against his chest, your legs tangled together as he curled over your body like a human shield, protecting you during your descent into sleep? Before he’d been sent to train in the ways of the Jedi under his uncle, only for something to go terribly,  _terribly_ wrong?

No. No, all of that was wrong. Kylo Ren had no place in your thoughts, had never participated in any of that. The only man in your memories, the only one you held affection for, the only one you  loved was Ben Solo. Whoever the man standing before you now in that bloodcurdling mask identified as, he wasn’t yours.

He could  _never_ be yours.

“Now,  _that’s_ interesting,” he mused. There was no way to be sure, not with the irritating lifelessness and detachment that stupid mask let him make use of, but it almost sounded as if Kylo Ren was shocked. “You  _hate_ me.”

A bitter scoff won its way out of you, sincerity coming at a low cost of effort to hide the fact you were playing dumb. “Doesn’t everyone in the galaxy, by now?”

So quietly that the words had trouble filtering through the voice modulator, he murmured, “Not on a personal level. Not like... that.” He cocked his head to the side, staring. “Have we met before?”

A jolt of instinct ratcheted up your spine, looking for any significant form of escape. You leaned as far away from him as your restraints allowed; a pitiful distance, gained by an admittedly stupid reaction. “Can’t say we have,” you answered weakly, the patheticness of the lie evident to even your own ears.

“Neither can I. And yet—“ A silhouette of a face flashed in your mind, one you desperately prayed wouldn’t solidify; the murkier you kept your memories of  _him_ , the less of a problem it would leave you to deal with. “—you know how to hide things from me. And you’re doing it.” The silhouette grew brighter, seconds away from clearing into focus, but you mentally stomped into it until the shape was nothing more than fragmented ripples. “Who is that?”

“ _No one_ ,” you snapped, gritting your teeth and shoving the memory away. It took a moment, but the vision cleared just as spontaneously as it had come, leaving you in the bleak reality of your pitifully small torture chamber and less than desirable company. Stars, he’d almost... “Look, I’ve never met you before in my life. I think I’d remember.”

“You would, wouldn’t you?” A moment of silence, and when Kylo Ren next spoke, it was decidedly to your horror. “Show me.”

Your body went numb, leaving you powerless to do anything but blink. “What?” you stalled, heart slamming against your ribcage in an erratic beat. “No, I— no.”

“ _Show me_ ,” he hissed again, reaching. This time he  did  touch your cheek, and between his hand on your face and the weight of his will crushing to dust your mind’s feeble attempt at resistance, all you could do was cry out in shock as Kylo Ren tore a memory out of your mind to examine.  


* * *

_Your fingers danced through Ben’s hair, nails gently scraping against his scalp as you wove the raven strands at his crown into a medium braid, tying it off and quickly setting to work on another just beside it. Convincing him to allow this particular activity had taken several days worth of repeatedly being shot down, and even as you’d set to work, he’d spent the first few minutes grumbling._

_Unfortunately for his dignity and the air he was trying so desperately to keep up, though, you weren’t blind._

_Here he was, sprawled over a blanket on your balcony as the Chandrilan sun caressed each of you with its warmth, lips parted, and rumbling a deep, satisfied mumble with every other exhale that escaped him. His chest rose and fell steadily, matching the pace of your breath as you hummed a Reverian melody, his eyelids fluttering in the occasional bout of pleasure. You saw the way he shivered as you caressed his scalp, the way he eagerly pushed his head into your touch if you took too long to stroke it again. For as long as you’d known him, Ben had never looked more the picture of serenity._

_“That... feels nice,” he murmured, smiling gently. As you’d told him it would, not that he’d believed you until he knew so for himself. Solo men were stubborn that way. “You’re going to let me do yours next, aren’t you? Fair is fair, after all.”_

_You scoffed, shaking your head in quiet disbelief. As if Ben Solo of all people knew what it meant to be fair, with his good looks and never failing charms._

_ “You’re far away today,” he continued, hazel eyes still shining up at you through thick, criminally long lashes. What use did he have for those, aside from tugging violently at your heartstrings with them? And  he  was the one speaking of unfairness. “What’s bothering you?” _

_Of course; even if you weren’t the type to wear your emotions on your sleeve, Ben had always been especially attuned to your shift in moods. It could only have been a matter of time before he asked. “Do you... do you_ have _to go?_ ”

_He frowned, a rarity in itself. For as many diplomatic visits as your family had taken to Chandrila, for as many nights as you’d spent laughing and chatting and learning to love with Ben Solo, excitement and purity roaring through your body in prolonged rushes of heady affection, you’d never once seen him so much as turn the corners of his mouth down in something that wasn’t a playful pout._

_“My father thinks it’ll be good for me,” Ben explained, eyes wandering toward the ceiling in a successful attempt at escaping your own. “He says my uncle can teach me to control the... impulses.”_

_You blinked, stilling your fingers where they continued to thread strands of Ben’s hair together as you tried to reason out whether you’d heard him correctly. “Impulses?_ ”

_Ben’s eyes slipped closed in such a way that you almost thought he looked scared; quite a feat, especially for someone you weren’t sure had ever been made to familiarize himself with the concept. “You know I’ve been having nightmares.”_

_Bad ones, too, if the fitful slumber you’d woken him from the night before was any sort of accurate depiction. The type to make him call out for you and his mother in his sleep. The type to turn him paranoid, anxious at the sight of the setting sun. The type to send him back to reality with cold tears of terror streaming down his cheeks as a parting gift. The type to prompt him to beg to sleep at your side, as it was quickly becoming the only place he could find any semblance of rest, no single remaining remnant of peace to be found any place else._

_Yes, you were aware of his nightmares; you were also aware of the fact that you were laughably powerless to do anything about them._

_“My mother agrees,” he went on, hand walking its way back to steal your fingers away from the braid. “She hasn’t said as much, but I know she does. I can tell.”_

_“And you?” you murmured, squeezing his hand where it rested in yours. A simple question, but one you wanted to ensure would be asked. “What do you think?”_

_Ben’s eyes blinked open, then, and it took less than a second for his gaze to find yours, a brilliant, reassuring smile eclipsing his face and casting out any inkling of hesitancy. He was putting on a confident show for you, the same way he always did. You wanted to tell him it wasn’t necessary, that he didn’t need to fake bravery he already possessed, but you knew he wouldn’t believe you; that was something he’d simply need to learn for himself._

“ _I think,” he whispered, squinting against the brilliance of the sun, “that it’ll help me be someone worthy of loving you. That I’ll always be able to keep you safe from anyone, no matter what.” He paused, a slight shake of his head your only warning before he pushed to sit up and turned to catch your cheek in the palm of his free hand, sending your heartbeat into a furious flutter. “And I think, if I really give it a chance... it might teach me to be a man your parents could actually consider marrying you to.”_

_You gasped, powerless to do much of anything else. “You... you think so?”_

_The hesitation in his voice was minuscule, shrouded beneath the feel of your heart swelling with joy and love; you doubted he’d even registered its presence himself. “I really, really do.”_

_Ben Solo, your brave, handsome, pilot boy._

_How unfortunately wrong he’d been about that.  
_

* * *

The warmth of the morning sun faded from your eyes until you were left in the dark of your torture chamber, chest going hollow as Kylo Ren’s mask gradually came back into focus. As your memory faded from your senses, blowing away as easily as smoke in the wind, you found yourself left numb, mouth running dry.

Two days before Ben’s twenty third birthday, and three days before he left to train beneath Luke Skywalker in the ways of the Jedi. You remembered that particular visit to Chandrila excruciatingly well. It was the one you would reminisce every night for years to come, after all, forever torturing yourself with the notion that if you’d done even the smallest thing different, the outcome would have changed entirely.

“We were in love,” Kylo Ren murmured, modulator concealing whatever emotion the words might have contained. A damn shame; you were curious to know if thoughts of you plagued him just as often as thoughts of him plagued you. “That doesn’t make any sense. Why don’t I know your face?”

You shrugged, pretending his admission of ignorance to your identity didn’t send tidal waves of relief flooding through your body. “Oh, you know. We all do what we can to forget our exes.”

He shook his head, and you imagined that his brow was furrowing somewhere behind that mask. “I remember Dameron. He was older than me, but our parents always had us placed with the same caretakers on Chandrila. I found him insufferable.” He paused, leaning closer, and you wondered how much distance was left between his mask and your forehead. “I remember my mother. She loved me as best she could, but she was a fool to think she could ever control me.”

“It was never about controlling you,” you interrupted, knowing the words weren’t anything he was interested in hearing.

“I even remember the King and Queen of Reveria,” he went on, adopting a sinister edge. “They thought me kind, well mannered. Queen Alethia used to sing my praises to her entire court each time she visited on diplomatic matters. A sweet woman, really.” You cringed at your mother’s name being violently ground through the modulator, wishing Kylo Ren would simply  _make his point already_.  “And now I find out I used to make love to her daughter, not that I remember her having one in the first place. So where are you? Why don’t I remember?”

So, he  _didn’t_ know you. Not how he used to, not the way Ben Solo did. For a realization that should have brought you relief, you were surprised at how sour the taste it left in your mouth was.

“I couldn’t tell you,” you sighed, rolling your eyes up to the ceiling. “The last time I saw you I was twenty two years old. That was  _seven years_ ago. If you’ve forgotten me, it’s not because I made you.”

His head tilted, and you didn’t need to see his face to know exactly which expression he wore on it. “You think someone forced me to forget?”

“What, you don’t?”  _Clearly_ the man standing over you wasn’t Ben; he’d have never been such an idiot. “How many years did you spend as Snoke’s personal passion project, again? Half a dozen? And you never thought he was taking anything from you? That  _whole_ time, you’re telling me you never felt like you were  _missing_ anything?”

“Not especially.” He was lying. Surely your relationship hadn’t been quite so inconsequential. Surely some remnant of it had stayed with him over the years. Surely all his memories of you weren’t just  _gone_. “Was it my mother who sent you here?”

You shook your head, seeing no point in deception. He’d only tear the truth out of your mind if he suspected you of lying anyway. “No. I came because I thought... I don’t know. That it would make a difference?” How naive of you; you’d never make such a colossal mistake as long as you continued to live. “Leia begged me not to, actually. Warned me that you weren’t... well,  _you_ , anymore.”

A sharp exhale, one that sounded distantly like a scoff, filtered through the voice modulator, a touch too harsh allow any amount of certainty. “You should have listened to her,” he told you.

And then he was gone, disappearing back through the torture chamber door in a whirl of capes as if he’d never meant to step in in the first place, leaving you to your lonesome and a mind racing with a thousand new questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this one kind of came fast, but I was just soooo excited to keep writing this story! Hopefully I don’t burn myself out too fast, haha. I hope y’all enjoyed this, stick around for the next!


	3. Not Your Best Idea

Kylo Ren’s inability to place your face in his memories hadn’t exactly come as a surprise; in fact, you’d suspected as much. Had hoped for it, even, because it was the only thing that made sense. What use did Snoke have for a boy with emotional attachments and romantic hang ups? How much evil could he squeeze into his star pupil, really, if his mind was clouded with thoughts of you? Love for you? Yearning for you?

It was why your planet had been the first to go, you knew, why Snoke had been so quick to condemn your people to death. He needed you scraped from Ben’s mind in order to truly make him Kylo Ren, and once the memories were gone there could be no reminders. That way, Kylo Ren would never have to deal with the conflict of choosing between you and his newfound dark purpose.

Of course, Snoke couldn’t have known that you wouldn’t actually  _be_ on Reveria that day, and it was due to his ignorance of the fact that your parents had sent you on a ship to meet with Leia in support of the Resistance that he’d taken everything else away from you, too. If you’d hated him before, there could be no words that even came close to describing what you felt for him after that.

So, no, Kylo Ren regarding you with little more than apathetic confusion hadn’t been anything you weren’t already prepared for, but you’d  _sort of_ been banking on his memories returning once he’d taken a good look at you. In fact, that was about as far as your original plan had stemmed, a detail you’d intentionally kept from Poe because you  _knew_ he’d have never agreed to help you otherwise. But, of course, it hadn’t worked, and now you were simply shit out of luck.

Once news of your death spread to the Resistance, Poe was going to resurrect you for the simple act of kicking your ass.

When the door to your chamber torture eventually slid open, you knew it could only be to allow entrance to whoever would be tasked with carrying out your execution. After all, Kylo Ren had taken one look at you and your mind and seen through it, right down to the very center of your being. Now that he knew what you’d once been to him — or rather, to Ben — he couldn’t simply have the threat of you parading around. At least, that’s what you were assuming. He hadn’t exactly stuck around to say as much.

A moment later, Hux stepped in, face just as red as it had been when he’d initially left to summon Kylo Ren on your behalf. Damn; there went any hope you had of deducing how much time had actually slipped by. “ _What_ did you say to him?”

You blinked, letting your facade of arrogance slip back over you like satin. Perhaps you were mere minutes away from death, but you’d be damned if you let this man think for even a second that  _he_ was what had you so shaken up. “Aww, what? No hello?” An echo of the sneer he’d thrown your way the first time he’d seen you today. You hoped the insult didn’t fly too far over his head.

Hux crossed the room in four furious strides, swinging his arm back to send a harsh slap flying across your face, the back of his hand impacting with your cheek so violently that stars danced in your vision.

“You fool of a girl!” he snarled, pure hatred lacing through his words. “Ren isn’t the sort you toy with, or haven’t you been paying attention to the war your ridiculous cause has been fighting? To taunt him with information you don’t actually have, and to make  _me_ look like an idiot—!”

The taste of blood in your mouth wasn’t enough to keep you from laughing, and once again, you were met with the sense that Poe would be proud to know you were all but spitting in the face of danger. “Should’ve known better than to trust rebel scum. Isn’t that the First Order’s whole thing?”

Hux looked as if he would like nothing more than to strike you again, but he restrained himself in what could only be exceptional effort. “Well, you no longer appear to  _belong_ to the rebel cause. If anything, at least _that’s_ been remedied.”

Odd choice of words. He’d enunciated them for the sheer purpose of getting under your skin and forcibly planting the seed of curiosity. You hated that it had worked. “What are you talking about?”

Hux only moved to unlock your restraints, swiftly stepping back as you collapsed off the table and onto the floor. As weak, dehydrated, and exhausted as you were, there’d been no time to brace yourself for the sudden gift of freedom. Maybe if you curled your body tight enough you’d simply disappear into yourself.

You were certainly tempted to try.

“Supreme Leader Ren has ordered your appearance be taken care of. You will bathe and dress, and after that, you will join him in his quarters.” Hux’s words fell against your body in heavy blows, too fast in succession to allow your mind any time to interpret their meaning. “What for, he neglected to mention, but if he found you interesting enough to spare from death, I assume it will be unpleasant for you.”

Like your body, your mind failed you, unable to comprehend any of the information being thrown your way. You were being afforded the luxury of a bath and clean clothes, Hux  _wasn’t_ here to kill you, and Kylo Ren  hadn’t green lit your death immediately after leaving the chamber.

What, then,  _had_ he done?

According to the implication in Hux’s voice, something much,  much worse.

* * *

You’d opted to spend no more than ten minutes bathing, not wanting to risk adding to Hux’s already potent wrath by stalling any longer. You weren’t sure what exactly Kylo Ren had said to him after leaving the torture chamber, but it had been enough to make Hux take it out on you tenfold, and you weren’t exactly eager to have him add any more welts to the skin of your cheek.  _One_ mark of violence would certainly be enough for the day, and after shrugging into the simple black, cotton dress afforded to you and detangling your hair with your fingers in record time, you were certain you’d manage to keep it that way.

He blindfolded you before leading you to your final destination, an action that irritated you but didn’t exactly inspire excessive shock or surprise. The First Order was still your prison, after all; Kylo Ren had simply granted you a bigger cage.

“Keep up,” Hux snarled, fingers digging into your bicep with little care or concern for any pain his grip caused you. “Though everyone seems to think I exist as a personal errand boy, I  _do_ have more important business to attend to.”

Your impulse was to make some sort of snarky comment that instantly would have had Poe in hysterics, but you bit down on your lip and kept your mouth shut. This period of time was critical to your survival, after all; you wouldn’t be able to at least  _attempt_ to escape whatever nefarious plan Kylo Ren had waiting for you in his quarters if Hux injured you for mouthing off on the way to it. Better to keep your mouth shut.

“A word to the wise,” Hux sneered, releasing your wrists from the cuffs restraining them and yanking your blindfold off. You blinked against the sterile white of the hallway the two of you stood in, lights adding to the painful brightness of the scenery. “Do as Ren demands. You won’t like what he does if you refuse.”

You raised your chin, squaring your shoulders in defiance. “He won’t like what  _I_ do if he tries to force anything on me,” you shot back.

Hux almost looked as if he pitied you, but said nothing, simply moving to key in the passcode to Kylo Ren’s quarters. Once the door slid open, he pushed you inside, offering one last look of disgust and disdain before closing the door and sealing you in to the den of the beast.

The main room was less impressive than you expected, but you got the feeling that was intentional. Dimly lit, predominantly black in color, few personal belongings to be found. Were it not for the fact Hux’s last facial expression had been that of someone condemning another person to a fate worse than death, you might’ve thought he’d mistakenly escorted you to an unoccupied living space.

“Welcome.”

You started, flinching in a combination of terror and surprise as you whirled to locate where the words had come from, heart stopping as you realized they’d been spoken in a voice you hadn’t heard in approximately seven years.

In the far left of the room, shrouded by shadows, was a table laden with countless dishes of various cultural origin, two candles at either end of the table casting it all in a flickering glow. And there, at the far end of the table, sat Kylo Ren.

It was as if your brain was short circuiting, glitching in its ability to tell past from present. That  _had_ to be Ben, blinking up at you with an uncharacteristically blank expression on his face, features schooled into deathly neutrality. Why else would your blood be pounding with such inhuman force? Why else would you be fighting off the urge to drop all hesitations and  _run_ to him, diving into his arms and desperately clutching him closer to your heart than you’d dared in years? Why else did you want to curl your hands around his cheeks and kiss his lips until neither of you could properly breathe?

Because it wasn’t Ben Solo eyeing you at all, patiently gesturing for you to take the vacant seat across the table from his own, eyes tracking your every movement as your body slipped into autopilot to obey the command. It was Kylo Ren, wearing a face that didn’t belong to him.

“You clean up nice,” he remarked, popping a bite of food into his mouth. You were powerless to do anything but stare, flabbergasted at the casualty of such an action. “I suppose I can see the appeal.”

You felt your face grow warm in embarrassment, unable to find the strength to lash back. How could you, when your mind was still reeling at the tragically beautiful sight before you?

“You should eat something,” he went on, unfazed by your lack of response. You chalked it up to your own imagination that you could hear the slightest tint of a tease in his tone. “You’ll have to forgive me for not remembering what you like, but I’m sure something here will do.”

“I’m... not hungry,” you forced out, hating the quality of meekness you’d suddenly adopted. Never mind the fact that you were actually fucking  _starving_.  Where was your spitfire persona? Where was your disdain for the man picking you apart from across the table with stolen eyes? Your hatred? Your anger?

Lost beneath the gaze of Kylo Ren. That was where it had all disappeared to. You imagined none of it was likely to return until you were free from the oppression of his regard.

He shrugged a shoulder, unperturbed. “Then perhaps you’d like to speak about what happened to your face.” Another bite. “I don’t remember that bruise being quite so bad last time I saw you.”

You scoffed, brought suddenly to life by the sheer audacity of the implication. As if it was  _your_ fault this ship was filled with easily wounded pride. “Gift from Hux. Says I embarrassed him in front of you.”

“Well, he didn’t like the fact that you lied to him to get me into that room.”

“I  _didn’t—!_ ”  You cut yourself off, thinking better of yelling at the most powerful man in the galaxy. Though you still weren’t sure what game he was playing with you, you doubted he’d take kindly to the disrespect. “I didn’t lie. I said I had information you were missing. I wasn’t wrong.”

Another bite. “No, you weren’t.”

The prolonged silence that befell the two of you was significantly more than uncomfortable. It was damn near unbearable, in fact, though it only seemed to affect you in any particular way. When it became clear that Kylo Ren was waiting for you to ask the obvious question, you turned your attention to the food before you, in an attempt to redirect your stubbornness and keep mute.

Easy enough, at first; three days with no food made unceremoniously stuffing your face your temporary source of joy. You couldn’t name a single dish you ate, or even say one way or the other whether you’d enjoyed it, but with how ravenous you were, a pot of gruel would have been equivalent to the finest meal you’d ever had.

But then your belly was on the verge of bursting, unable to sustain any more gorging, and you were left with the maddening sensation of needles scratching at your skin. Your curiosity needed sating, and the only man who could provide that to you was sitting right across the table, lying in wait for you to take his bait.

You blinked.

So did Kylo Ren.

And suddenly, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Why am I here?” you sighed, only half expecting a real answer. You had no agency in this place, no right to demand knowledge. Maybe you were free of the dark, cramped cage that was the torture chamber, but that didn’t make you any less a prisoner.

Kylo‘s face remained blank, expression smooth as marble and pointedly unreadable .  “You thought you could unlock some sort of emotion in my mind and intentionally got yourself captured. Not your best idea.”

You rolled your eyes up to the ceiling, once again forgetting yourself beneath the familiarity of his gaze. That needed to stop, and quickly; just because you’d once known the warmth of affection from his eyes on your skin didn’t mean that he was any less dangerous to you.

“No,” you tried again, forcing your tone to remain passive. “I don’t mean that, I mean why am I  _here_ , with you? How come I’m not still in that torture room? Or, even better, why am I still alive?”

“Simple.” Not from your point of view. “If he got to have you, then I should, too.”

Confusion forced you to ask another question. “He being...?”

“Ben Solo.”

_That_ didn’t make any sense. Ben had never  _had_ you, he’d only...

You gulped, still unable to reconcile that beautiful face with the cruel, entitled tone in which it spoke. Your Ben, but not, all at the same time. Such was the conundrum of Kylo Ren’s existence. “You... want me to love you?”

Kylo arched an eyebrow, dark amusement dancing in the glittering hazel of his irises. “Shouldn’t you still? Or have you already given up hope?” He scoffed beneath his breath, the sound wrenching your nerves in a thousand different directions. “Hypocritical, coming from a member of the Resistance.”

His tone was playful enough — or, rather, as playful as it  _could_ be, considering his identity — but the weight of implication in his words was far too much for you to write off.

“Not at all, actually,” you snapped, mind reeling. “You’re not the same person I knew before, and you’re  _certainly_ not the man I loved.”

“Keep your love,” he sniffed. “That’s not what this is about. You loved him. He had you. Now I want to have you, too.”

There was no way he could be saying what you thought he was. And yet... the arrogant entitlement in his eyes did nothing but confirm your suspicion, and to his own detriment. You were suddenly determined to make him regret it.

“There’s nothing for you to _have!”_ You shook with rage, fingers curling into fists down at your sides as you felt your face begin to warm, all prior thoughts of behaving and playing nice flying out the door. It was pathetic, really, how little this man had to try to have a significant effect on you, but you could dwell on your own emotional sensitivity later, when you didn’t actively have a point to be made.  “ I’m a person! A  _person_ , with feelings and thoughts and a conscience! Not just something for you to... to  _play_ with!”

Kylo Ren arched a brow, and even that minute shift in facial expression seemed, to your heart, incredibly unfair. How could something like that be allowed? For someone like him, evil and tainted, to use something as pure as Ben’s face to his own advantage? And all while laying some unnatural claim of desire to you?

“Aren’t you, though?” he murmured. A simple enough question, but one that made unease slide down your back with each blink of his eyes. “Dressed in clothing I gave to you? Housed in a room I made available to you? Full from food I provided? Not only are you a toy, you’re also  _mine_.  And I don’t share my things with anyone.”

Your heart quickened its pace in your chest, trying desperately to outrun the viciousness of Kylo’s words. He’d designed them to be cruel, to attack the very basis of your reasoning for being here — letting them affect you negatively would only have been another step toward giving him exactly what he wanted.

The corners of his pink lips turned up in the ghost of a smirk, much too familiar for comfort, and in the slightest moment of weakness, you found yourself pondering whether rounding the table and leaning down to kiss his lips would feel the same as kissing Ben. An after effect of being in close proximity to the man you’d once loved, you guessed. You hated that the thought even crossed your mind.

“Let me make myself clear,” Kylo Ren stated, sin dripping from each syllable he spoke, “so that there isn’t any confusion. Your life was spared by my charity. Your heart beats under my mercy. And you continue  _breathing_ only because it keeps me from boredom. You say you aren’t a toy? That’s  _exactly_ what you are. A doll. One for me to dress up and feed and play with as I see fit.”

Your chest ran cold, freezing over in icy dismay as his words cut against you. That was truly all you were to him? Something to distract him from the war, something to ease his mind after a long day? A plaything? Obviously he wasn’t Ben Solo anymore; hadn’t been for quite sometime. But... was there truly no remnant of your first love left in this man?

No, you couldn’t think like that. The entire reason you were here was to save the man sitting in front of you, make him see reason, turn him to the light. To prove that he wasn’t lost, and that he never had been. More than anything else, to simply bring him  _home._

And still, even in spite of having an admittedly foolish and unshakeable amount of hope for turning him back to your side... you weren’t willing to let yourself be pushed around.

“You can try to own me all you want,” you muttered, jaw clenching in defiance. Funny, how easily spite allowed you to look into his eyes when you’d never thought you’d be brave enough to do so again. “House me, feed me, dress me. If you think it’ll make you feel more powerful, then fine.” You raised your chin, then, forcing yourself not to flinch in fear that he was undoubtedly privy to. “But I know that you’re curious about me, and the way I used to make you feel. I know you wouldn’t keep me around like this if you didn’t wonder if I could still love you, the way I used to.”

“Careful,” he hissed, telltale warnings flaring up in the hazel pools of his irises. “Don’t assume I’m the sentimental type. He might’ve been, but I assure you: I am his opposite.”

“If that’s true, then why keep me at all?” you whispered, lip trembling. Part of you hoped that was only due to how ridiculously cold this stupid spaceship was, but the wiser half of your mind knew it had nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with  _him_. “You could’ve left me to rot in that torture chamber; I was almost dead, anyway. You could’ve killed me yourself, even, but you  _didn’t_. Why?”

Kylo blinked, leaving you little more than a glimpse at the thousands of intricate thoughts racing within his mind. How you wished you could see them all clearly, as you’d once been able to. How you wished he would simply let you inside. “I don’t know.”

“Bullshit!” you cried, bravely jabbing an accusatory finger his way. “You don’t do things because you feel like it, you do them for a reason! So what is it, huh? What’s  _your_ reason? This can’t just be because you’re fucking bored!”

“And if it is?” Kylo challenged, voice dipping its way into dangerous darkness. “If it  _is_ just because I’m bored, then what? What will you do, hmm? You belong to me. Ben Solo isn’t  here, and neither are your friends from the Resistance. I am _all_ you have to look forward to.”

And technically, you knew, he wasn’t wrong.

“Then you may as well kill me,” you whispered, casting your gaze down to the floor. Something nameless churned within your body; you thought it might’ve been similar to malice or sorrow, but it lacked the particular edge required for either. “Because if that’s the case, then I’m already good as dead.”

“No, you’re not,” Kylo remarked after another moment; had you not known any better, you might’ve thought he sounded just the slightest bit disappointed. “At least not until I’ve finished with you.”

A toy. To him, you were simply a toy.

You wondered how long it would take before he grew tired of playing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, god DAMN was this chapter rough to write😩 I have no idea whether I like it or not but it’s DONE, and I hope you enjoyed it! If you have any questions or comments, feel free to send them my way!

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! Apparently I have become much more attached to Kylo Ren as my emotional support character than I’d realized, so here’s my attempt at starting a new fic for a movie franchise I’ve just started getting into! This is my second work for Kylo Ren and Star Wars, but my first ever multi chapter fic for this fandom, so if there are any inaccuracies, I apologize! I’m still learning the ins and outs of this universe.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading this first chapter, and I can’t wait to keep writing more! Definitely feel free to send any thoughts or comments my way!


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